Anything You Want
by wintershine
Summary: Logan really liked that spy costume of Camille's. But was it really the costume he was in to, or something more? Lomille smut. Takes place immediately after Big Time Rocker.


**Smutty one-shot with a small side of fluff inspired by Big Time Rocker. Enjoy!**

**Anything You Want**

_I could be anything that you want me to  
>Coin spender, mind bender,<br>Jet setter, go-getter,  
>Changin' my getup for anything you choose<em>

_I don't mind trying on someone else  
>I won't mind seeing just how it felt<br>I might like changing my disguise  
>To make you happy<em>

* * *

><p>"Did you mean it when you said you weren't gonna kiss me anymore?" He grinned playfully, squeezing her knee. Logan and Camille had gone back to her apartment to watch a movie after hanging out at the pool with the others.<p>

Camille considered her answer for a moment. "Only until you decide who you like more," she teased. "Me or _Mila."_

"Well, why can't it be both? You both have some _very_ attractive qualities." He raised an eyebrow at her, feigning an attempt at looking seductive. He wasn't an actor, though, and couldn't keep a straight face for long.

Camille giggled. "Because, Logan Mitchell, you can't be in love with a character."

"Now, who said anything about love?"

She rolled her eyes at him and slapped his hand away from her leg, though not without a little regret. She didn't always know where it would lead, but she enjoyed the banter they so often exchanged. It was so easy to fall into this pattern with him that sometimes even she couldn't tell what their relationship really was. Surely they were something more than just friends—they were both in way too deep for the dreaded 'friend zone' ever to be a problem. Yet they weren't really a couple either; at least, not in the true sense of the word. Not the way Kendall and Jo had been. They both experimented with seeing other people, but God knew none of _those_ relationships lasted more than a millisecond. They were stuck in this weird Limbo of relationships that neither one knew how to break free of. It seemed they could never go _back _to being just friends, but it seemed just as unlikely that they'd ever really do the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing.

Whatever this was, though, it was _fun. _And it was definitely never boring. At least there were _some _perks to this little friends-with-benefits arrangement.

* * *

><p>It was no secret that Camille loved Logan—everyone at the Palm Woods knew he was off-limits, and anyone new who moved in quickly found out.<p>

The other girls—mostly the Jennifers—had chided her for making herself too available. Logan may be sweet and somewhat innocent, but when it came down to it, he was still a _guy. _And if the Jennifers knew anything about guys (which they did), it was that boys always liked a chase. The thrill of the pursuit was half the fun of the relationship; Logan would never be in to her as long as he knew she was always waiting around for him. Didn't she notice how much more interested he was in her when she dated Steve?

Camille soon saw that the Jennifers had a point. In the days following their mission to return the money she'd stolen, Logan had initiated all their text conversations, had been to her apartment twice, and had taken her out for a smoothie. All this _after_ she'd told him she wasn't going to kiss him anymore. She'd been lying, of course, and they both knew it. Still, he was working hard to earn the privilege back, and she knew she'd have to reward him soon. After all, he was just too cute with his hopeful, puppy-dog face, waiting to be thrown a bone.

Well. Wait 'til he saw the bone she had planned.

* * *

><p>Mid-afternoon on a Wednesday. Logan was in the apartment by himself. Carlos and James were currently visiting Lucy, still trying to break out of the friend zone they'd been placed in. Mrs. Knight had taken Katie on a commercial audition, and Kendall was at the studio with Gustavo and Kelly, going over tracks for their forthcoming album.<p>

Logan was studying from an advanced biology textbook when he heard the knock.

Thankful for the interruption—the long, complicated words that didn't even look English were making even _his _head hurt—he stood to answer the door. He was stunned momentarily to find Camille standing at his door, wearing her Agent Mila Stark costume—complete with black wig, trench coat, and thigh-high boots.

She looked around furtively before moving past him to go inside the apartment. "Are ve alone?" she asked in her Russian accent, glancing about the apartment.

"Wh—oh, yeah," Logan said. He knew it was always best to just play along with Camille's fantasies than to try to resist them. Besides, this particular game was one he could _definitely _get into. "We're alone. Were you followed?" He closed the door behind her.

"No," said _Mila_. "I made sure of it. I had to see you again! I couldn't leave for 'zis mission without telling you how I feel."

"How do you feel, Mila?"

She put a finger to his lips. "Shh. No talking. I vill show you."

Camille pushed Logan against the front door and kissed him fiercely, feeling a small wave of satisfaction when he parted his lips. His tongue darted out, swiping her bottom lip, and she allowed him the entrance he was asking for. As he probed her mouth with his tongue, she ran her fingers through his soft hair, enjoying the feel of it in her hands. Soon he was running his hands down her body and forcing himself away from the door. Without breaking contact they crashed down the hallway to the bedroom he shared with Kendall, tripping over their own feet and tangling themselves up in each other even more.

Two twin beds were set up on opposite walls. One side of the room looked as though a tornado had recently swept through it, with papers, books, clothes, and other random items strewn about haphazardly. The other side was almost comically neat, with everything placed meticulously in its proper spot. Camille pushed Logan down on the bed she knew was his, loving the somewhat stunned look on his face—a look that said he couldn't believe his luck right now. A look that clearly said, _Is this really happening? _

She made sure that the bedroom door was locked before turning back to Logan, who was propped up on his elbows, eyes roaming over her, from her painted red lips to her fitted coat that hugged her body, to the high-heeled boots that covered her legs. She was sure he was waiting to see what she would do next. Slowly, carefully, her fingertips traced over the belt of her coat, and she unfastened the buckle, opening her coat to reveal a slinky black dress underneath. Logan's breath caught in his throat. The dress was short and tight, sleeveless, with a small slit over the right thigh. It dipped just low enough to reveal a bit of cleavage, but not so much that it could be called indecent. He exhaled slowly when she let the trench coat fall to the floor and walked towards him.

Camille climbed onto the bed with him, leaning down to kiss his neck, and he moved his head to the side to give her better access. She licked a spot at the base of his throat before biting on it a little roughly—enough to leave a mark. Logan didn't mind. If she wanted to mark her territory, that was fine with him. The past few days were all it had taken for him to be reeled in: hook, line, and sinker. Was there even any point in pretending they weren't a couple anymore?

His hands gently moved through the straight locks of black hair atop her head. They felt soft enough, but it wasn't the same as when he could tangle his fingers in her real hair. The wig looked _hot_, that was certain, but he had to make sure not to get too rough, for fear of yanking it off.

Those thoughts were soon washed away. His brain went a little cloudy when he felt Camille's hands roaming over his torso, reaching the hemline of his polo shirt and sneaking underneath to trace circles over his bare skin. Her nails scraped him gently, tickling over his ribs. Camille moved off of him enough so that he could sit up, and he pulled the shirt over his head and flung it down to the ground so that it landed near Camille's trench coat.

They'd been here once before, but had stopped themselves before things got too heated. But now, in the empty apartment, with nothing to make them stop…how far would they go? Logan was both excited and a little scared at the prospect.

Camille took the lead again, straddling his waist and not seeming to notice that her dress was riding up quite a bit. Logan ran his hand up her leg, fingers burning her skin where they touched and making her shiver. She rolled her hips gently, smirking when his eyes practically glazed over due to the friction between them. She had just begun to fumble with the belt buckle on his jeans when doorknob rattled.

"Logan? You in there?" came Kendall's voice from the hallway.

Camille and Logan froze for a split second, thanking every god they could think of that the door was locked. But Camille, ever the method actress, stayed in character. "They have found me," she whispered, still using her Russian accent. "I must go. Never forget me."

Kendall knocked again. "Logan?"

"Yeah," Logan called out, sounding oddly strangled. "Uh, one sec."

Camille kissed him on the mouth one last time before climbing off him and scooping up her trench coat from the ground, making sure that it was wrapped around her and tightly secured before she opened the door.

Kendall's mouth dropped open in surprise as she merely smirked at him and left the room, letting herself out of the apartment. Logan sat on the edge of his bed, still shirtless, and with an obvious red bruise forming on his neck. Kendall looked back towards the doorway that Camille had just exited and then to Logan again, unable to even formulate the question on his mind.

"Were you guys-? Did she-?"

"Dude," Logan said. "You have the _worst _timing."

* * *

><p>Logan wasn't all that comfortable detailing the happenings of his personal life, but God knew Kendall could never be bothered to keep a secret—they were all best friends, they told each other everything anyway. And besides, four boys living in a small apartment, who spent practically every waking moment together? It was all of 2 hours before James and Carlos were made aware of what had <em>almost <em>happened between Logan and _Mila._

"Wow, Kendall. Way to be the _biggest_ cock-block in the history of the world," James had said.

"I didn't know she was here!" Kendall tried to defend himself. "Logan should have told me he was going to have…_company_."

Logan rolled his eyes. He'd been trying to ignore their conversation while continuing to study from his biology book, but phrases like "those boots _were_ pretty hot" and "what did she have on under the trench coat?" kept leaking through his focus.

"I told you," he sighed. "There was no time. One minute I'm studying in the kitchen and the next we're locked in the bedroom with her on top of me!"

"Then what happened?" Carlos asked, leaning forward interestedly.

"Nuh-uh," Logan said, shutting his book and standing up. "I'm _not _giving you anymore details."

"Come on!" James wheedled. "We're your friends! You have a duty to tell us what happened!"

"It's the guy code," Kendall said, agreeing with them. "Thou shalt relate any and all sexual conduct to thy best friends."

"It's a rule!" Carlos yelled at Logan's back as he left the room.

* * *

><p>Three days later, he hadn't seen or heard from Camille at all. He'd texted her twice, with no response, and he'd taken to hanging out by her favorite spot at the pool in hopes she would show up. He'd even been by her apartment three times, but each time, her father had answered the door and told him that she wasn't there. Mr. Roberts scared him a little—it wasn't that he was all that intimidating, but Logan felt like every time he made eye contact, Mr. Roberts was reading his mind and knew <em>everything <em>that had happened between him and his daughter. That was enough to keep him from dropping by her apartment any more. He didn't want her father thinking he was stalking Camille.

Logan was beginning to wonder whether the whole incident had been a figment of his imagination. Truth be told, he wouldn't have been _that _surprised to find out it was. It was all just too good to be true. Mysteriously appealing Camille as _Agent Mila Stark _just happening to show up at his apartment when everyone was gone? What were the odds? But then, Logan reflected wryly, if it _had _been something he made up in his head, they certainly wouldn't have been interrupted by Kendall.

Finally, after another two days of hearing nothing from her, he caught a glimpse of her in the elevator just as its doors were shutting. Not bothering to explain to Carlos, who had just gone to Jamba Juice with him, he raced through the lobby and up the stairs, panting a little when he reached her floor. He took a few deep breaths and steeled himself as he rounded the corner—Camille's father was coming out of the apartment. He turned awkwardly and bent down, hiding his face and pretending to tie his shoe until Mr. Roberts passed.

When he finally disappeared into the elevator, Logan straightened up and knocked on the door to Camille's apartment. Her long hair was pulled back into a side braid, and her complexion looked somewhat pale, except for her nose, which was red. She was wearing a pink tank top and a pair of gray sweatpants and held a crumpled tissue in her hand, which she coughed into as she opened the door.

"Hey," Logan said. So _this _was why she hadn't been around lately. "You sick?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I've been at the studio for rehearsals and I think one of the extras sneezed on me or something. I'm feeling a little better now though."

She stood aside to let him into the living room.

"How much better?" Logan asked with a grin, closing the door behind him and joining her on the couch.

"Enough to let you in for a while, I guess," Camille said, grinning back at him.

She pressed 'Play' again on the remote, restarting the movie she was watching, and curled up into Logan's side without a trace of trepidation or embarrassment. Logan absentmindedly brushed his fingertips through her hair and gently scraped his nails in random patterns on her bare neck. She shivered a little, being ticklish on her neck and craned it up to look at him. He smiled down at her and kissed her forehead before lifting her chin up to kiss her lips.

Camille resisted, turning her head before he could make contact. "I'm sick, Logan. You'll get a cold."

"I don't care," he told her, bending down again.

This time she made no protest when he tilted her head towards him. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her into his lap so that her tank top rode up a little. He slipped his hand underneath the hemline of it, feeling the smooth skin of her back and flat stomach. Camille smiled into the kiss when she felt his hand creep higher to feel for the clasp on her bra. He fumbled with it for a few frustrated moments before she finally reached behind her to help him get it off. She shimmied out of it without removing her shirt and pulled him towards her again, slipping her tongue into his mouth while his hands roamed underneath her top. She could feel his hesitation—now that her bra was actually off, he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. So she covered his hand with her own and slowly guided it upwards to her breast, giving him permission to touch her.

He squeezed gently, amazed at how soft the skin was there and enjoying hearing her pant the more he felt around. He ran his thumb over her nipple, smirking when she inhaled sharply and arched her back into his touch. Her own hands went to the buttons on his plaid shirt and she nimbly unfastened them while sitting in his lap, pushing it off of him when she was done and yanking the plain white t-shirt he had on under it over his head.

This was the part Camille loved the most—feeling his warm skin against hers made her go light-headed and drunk off his touch, his smell…his everything. With no interruptions this time, her hands grazed down to his belt buckle and the button on his jeans, carefully removing the belt and tugging his pants down his legs, leaving him a little embarrassed at the fact that he was now in just his underwear with a semi-hard erection pitching up his boxers.

They maneuvered somewhat awkwardly, laughing at themselves, so that Logan was on top, doing his best not to rest all his weight on her, knowing how thin she was compared to him. He kissed down her neck to her collarbone—this time it was his turn to mark his territory—and he gripped Camille's hips as she wiggled under him while he sucked on her ticklish spot. His fingertips brushed over the waistband of her soft sweatpants, and he felt sure that any second now she would stop him from going any further. The moment never came, however, and he hooked his thumbs under the elastic. She lifted her hips to help him and soon the article of clothing was sliding off her legs to the floor.

Logan felt a little less self-conscious now that he wasn't the only one in his underwear and he crawled back upwards to kiss her again. She hooked a leg over him, pulling his body down to hers, smiling softly when he accidentally rubbed himself against her center.

"Sorry," he half-grunted, half-panted.

"Don't apologize," she said breathlessly. "Keep going."

Carefully this time, he pushed himself into her again, and she popped her hips a little to meet his thrusts, the thin fabrics of his boxers and her lacey panties the only things separating them from fully being one. The friction between them increased and blood rushed to his groin; he was focused on Camille, but it was getting more difficult when all he could think of was releasing the tension that was rapidly building below his waist. Camille finally pulled her tank top off over her head, revealing her bare chest and momentarily stunning Logan, who could do nothing but drink in the sight.

She looked as though she would have liked to cover herself from his stare, but he held her hands down. "Don't be embarrassed. You're beautiful."

Logan gently tugged out the hairband that secured her braid so that he could tangle his fingers through the soft curls.

"Should I go get my wig?" Her tone was light, teasing.

"Nope," he answered. "This is better."

Camille blushed lightly. "Is it? You seemed really into the costume before, so I thought that—"

"Of course it is," he cut her off. "The costume doesn't mean anything. The person inside it does."

"Before," she started, "when I showed up at your apartment wearing it… It was going to be a… a reward I guess."

"You'd have done that for me? Just because you knew I liked the costume? You would've been Mila just to make me happy?"

She nodded. "I'd be anything you want."

"In that case… I'm glad Kendall interrupted us."

Her brows knit together in confusion.

"I just want you to be you."

He kissed her again, moving from her lips to the base of her neck, down the valley between her breasts, leaving hot trails on her skin. He dipped his head down before he could lose his nerve—he'd never tried this before—and sucked her nipple in to his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. The whimper that emerged from her throat was all he needed to know that he was doing something right, so he repeated the action on the other side, this time with more confidence.

Their breathing was getting more frantic, the anticipation mounting higher and higher. Logan reached down, slipping his hand beneath the lace that separated her skin from his, and used his fingers to probe the slick folds of skin. She moaned and thrust her hips upward when he found the sensitive nerve he was looking for, and he somewhat awkwardly moved his fingers around the area, trying to gauge her reactions. She reached down with her own hand, guiding his, showing him where and how to touch her, until he found a rhythm of his own. He slid his fingers lower, slowly pushing his index and middle inside her. It was tight and warm and he loved how wet she was, almost as much as he loved the sound of her voice softly moaning his name.

"Oh, God. Don't stop," she breathed.

Logan picked up his pace, pumping his fingers faster to match the sound of her breath coming in quick, short gasps, until finally, with a loud whimper she clenched around him, shuddering, with nails scratching down his back, leaving angry red lines behind.

She only had a moment to catch her breath before his mouth was on hers again. Camille pulled on the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down so he could kick them off. It was his turn to blush while being stared at now, but the lust was making it hard to muster up any emotion other than raw desire, especially when he felt her fingers wrapping around his length at the base and moving up and down. Her hands were soft and delicate, smoother than his, and Logan thought he would never use his own hand to touch himself again now that he knew what this felt like.

She stopped much too soon, but it was because she was wriggling out of her own panties and yanking him back down to her. He looked in her eyes for assurance, and she nodded ever so slightly as he positioned himself at her entrance. He pushed in as slowly as he could bear, seeing the discomfort flit across her face as her body accommodated him, but then—finally—he was _in _and it was better than anything he'd imagined it to be, better than anything James had ever described to him and the other boys after a date with yet another random girl, and better than anything Kendall had ever told him about what Jo had done for him. It was pure bliss, but Logan hated the obvious look of pain that Camille was trying to mask from him, and he hated himself for feeling so _good _when she so obviously did not.

When he sensed she was ready, he pulled out a little and gently thrust back into her and after a few tense moments, the pain on her face was replaced by pleasure and she began rolling her hips upwards to meet his rhythm. He tried to keep a steady pace, but _fuck, _it just felt so good that he knew he'd soon lose control. Logan focused on Camille's labored breathing as they moved together, skin slick with the sheen of their sweat.

"Oh!" Camille gave a startled cry when he thrust in harder than he'd meant to.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Are you okay?"

"No, it's…_ah_, do that again."

He pulled out farther this time and slid back into her hard. "Like that?"

"Yeah. Oh, God. Keep going."

With this new pace Logan had to fight to keep himself in check, not wanting to come too quickly and ruin it for her.

"Faster. Please," she panted, nails digging in to one of his shoulders.

He could feel his release coming. Knowing she was close, he reached his hand between them and used his thumb to rub the sensitive area of her clitoris to bring her there with him.

"Fuck," she said. "Right there, yeah… Ah…_Logan." _

Maybe it was the fact that he'd been holding back too long, or the fact that the girl under him looked so damn _good _writhing at his touch. Or maybe it was just the sound of his name and the way it escaped her lips that set him over the edge, but as Camille moaned that last sentence, he stiffened and finally with a muffled grunt, released the tension that had practically been building since he entered the room. He could feel her clenching around him again, shuddering through her second orgasm of the afternoon, and he vaguely wondered just how many nail marks he would have on his shoulders and back when he got back to his apartment.

Camille was sweaty and sticky, her nose was still red, and her hair was now frizzed out from Logan constantly running his fingers through it, but to him, she'd never looked better than she did in that moment. He pulled out of her gently and kissed her on the forehead, the goofy grin on his face matching the relaxed and glossy one on hers.

"Don't ever think you have to be anything but yourself to make me happy," he whispered.

"Not even a sexy secret agent with a hot Russian accent?" she teased.

"Not even that," he told her seriously. "You can't be in love with a character. I learned that from you."

* * *

><p><strong>Hope it met your expectations! Let me know what you thought!<strong>

**Title comes from Ashley Tisdale's song "Masquerade."**


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